Incandescence
by outofthesun
Summary: Eric and Tris are entangled with each other, tied together by things that they maybe didn't want to reveal in the first place. But secrets are fickle things, and they can have consequences that have the potential to ignite everything around them. The final part of the '-scence' trilogy. Rated M for dark themes and sexual content.


**Incandescence**

 _Eric and Tris are entangled with each other, tied together by things that they maybe didn't want to reveal in the first place. But secrets are fickle things, and most notably, they have consequences that have the potential to ignite everything around them. The final part of the '-scence' trilogy. Rated M for dark themes and sexual content._

 **I really enjoyed writing this trilogy, and actually I'm sort of proud of it. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, inspired and encouraged, and most importantly thank you to dardarbinx101, whose prompt got me back to posting my writing on FFN.**

 **I'm extremely sorry for the wait, too, but I hope that you think it was worth it! I didn't want to end it with a piece I felt unsatisfied with; I wrote a much shorter draft but couldn't post it. In the end, uni had to take precedence haha but I managed to finish (eventually)!**

 **Once again, thank you, and I hope you enjoy the final instalment.**

 **Rated M for strong sexual content, including (mild) D/s undertones, potentially upsetting scenes and dark themes.**

* * *

Tris trudges through the unforgiving earth. It's cracked, infertile, and the bare tundra is all she can see for miles through the haze of dust in the air that irritates her eyes. Her backpack weighs her down, too, and increasingly it feels like she put a huge weight in there just for fun instead of life-preserving essentials. She closes her eyes and tries to summon up some motivation from a distant corner of her mind; attempts to cling to it like a drowning man would a rope tossed into water. But the unpleasant physical sensations invade her brain, refusing to be set aside: the chafing of her boots against the heel of her foot, reddening the skin; the dull headache that's obstinately been at her temples all day; the sting of the grit against her eyes. Most of all, though, she's _tired_ : the sort of tired that casts clouds over her vision, the sort of tired that makes everything difficult and clumsy and unnatural.

Their group is silent. Fleeing the city, going over the fence, fueled by ideology and obstinacy and probably a great many other things, there was an odd sort of optimism, but they've been trekking for two days now, and – well, nothing. Tris stumbles against an uneven patch and falls flat on her face; a hand pulls her back up and inwardly, she berates herself: _get your act together, Tris._

She thinks everyone's taken Tori's death hard. She hears Christina's sigh through the scarf covering her face and internally wilts: she's responsible for this. She was the ringleader. And what, exactly, is her plan?

Trek through the wilds and hope for the best.

Some leader she is.

How, exactly, is she qualified to do this? Where's the instruction manual? Tris finds herself thinking that all the hardest tasks are the ones with no guides or answers or FAQs. There wasn't exactly a section on 'leading a small-scale revolution' in her Dauntless leadership handbook. A few weeks ago she'd hated the thing that Eric had jokingly labelled her Bible – now, at least the dry rules and regulations outlined in its pages might centre her a bit. Tris feels like she's flailing around, trying to cling on to any handholds she can, but finding none and simply dropping through the air like a stone into a well, and if she's not careful, she might drown.

The thoughts prompt her to call a break, so their party dumps themselves on either a patch of slightly less hard earth or a rock and she pulls off her boots, assessing the damage to her feet. The others rehydrate, eat a little, but still there's barely any conversation. Christina wraps and re-wraps her injured hands, and Ryn paces irritably at the edge of the group, staring into the distance like it might suddenly give them answers, and ultimately returning frustrated when, once again, it gives nothing.

"Tris?" Uriah's usually smooth tones sound like they're being dragged over sandpaper. "Are you all right? Want some of my water?"

Gratefully, she accepts the proffered canteen and takes a long sip from it, the tepid water doing a little to mute the itchiness at the back of her throat. She manages a half-hearted smile by way of thanks as she hands it back to him, her hands massaging the bloody skin that currently makes up the soles of her feet.

How did she get here? When did it come to this – to death and loss and sacrifice? Because that's what this is, that's what she's created. These people who've come with her have given up so much – and what can she offer them in return except a tiny chance?

Tris draws her head to the unyielding ground and tries to remember her reason for being here at all.

* * *

 _Three days earlier_

They stand there for what feels like an age, staring at each other. Tris finds herself assessing Eric's eyes, hands, but finds nothing there: almost as if everything's been wiped clean. Her mind drifts to the last time they touched; they hugged as they parted, didn't they? Affectionate, a silent agreement to meet again in the air.

Something hard lodges itself in Tris's throat and refuses to budge.

"You didn't want to define the relationship." she eventually says. "But it wasn't the relationship that couldn't be defined, or maybe it wasn't the only thing – no, it was me. I'm dangerous; I can't be categorised." Mirthlessly, she chuckles. "I'm sorry to have interfered with your emotional filing system."

Eric just stares, expressionless bar his slightly widened eyes. It's the first time she's seen him speechless, and she doesn't know what to make of it. She brushes past him, unsure and on the way to deciding simply to leave before anything more adverse happens, but he stops her with a hand on her shoulder.

"You hid it all this time?" his voice is without inflection, almost forcibly so. Tris remembers their conversation about the value of being able to hide emotions: it's serving him well here. She might as well be blind for all the read she's getting.

"Yes. Didn't you suspect? Four deleted my simulation footage: you must have been aware of that."

"True. He passed it off as a technical error, though, and at the time I thought you were still a little homesick, clinging on to Abnegation manners for the sake of it." Running a hand through his hair, he bites his lip in a very un-Eric sort of gesture; it doesn't suit him. She moves to ask a question, maybe even working up the nerve to ask what she's been so desperate to know – but he raises a hand. "I have to think about this, Tris." All of a sudden, he sounds tired. Spent. Like she's sucked him dry of every bit of energy and now all that's left is skin and bone and breath.

"What is there to think about? Somehow I don't think you'll report me." she tries to put warmth in the words, even teasing, but it falls flat and she wrings her hands more agitatedly, picking at the loose skin her nails find. Eric paces, looks away from her, almost like the sight might affect his objectivity: like she's some sort of experiment he has to carry out impartially.

"We'll talk tomorrow evening, Tris – seven pm, my apartment. Don't bring food." It's almost a joke between them now, that last part – except neither of them are laughing now. He stares at her like a stranger and turns on his heel, so her only company in the room is the simulation machine, flashing the last, oh so divergent, frame back at her like a taunt.

Tris had thought she'd finally find out if Eric was ally or enemy to her, but this latest turn of events has only left her more confused. She stands motionless in the fear landscape room for a long time after he leaves, eyes unseeing as her mind spins, and when she finally goes back to sleep, it's only fitfully. Why did she risk going into the fear landscape room, knowing the risks it presented?

Ironically, it's perhaps her most Dauntless decision yet. And she had to do it, she had to: the odd impulse had demanded to be satisfied. But it makes doubt invade her senses; was it really a good idea? Acting truly Dauntless is foreign in a way she never thought it would be, not after passing initiation, and certainly not after becoming a leader. All she's achieved with it so far is arousing suspicion – the exact opposite of what she'd wanted. Eric's perceptiveness is simultaneously an annoyance and a gift: his understanding of her, his concessions – before they've given her respite, pleasure, even, but now it's coming back to bite her: now, her fate lies in his hands, and she's not sure that's where it should lie if she wants to emerge unscathed.

And the Council… Eric's well-placed to manipulate them if he so chooses. But Eric's not Abnegation, not like her, and morality isn't clear-cut for him as it is for her: despite the grey clothes they wore, actions and morals were nearly as black and white in Abnegation as in Candor: the same can't be said for Dauntless and Erudite, with the latter's questionable research and the former's training that often proved near-fatal, let alone dangerous.

The image of Eric dangling Christina over the Chasm surfaces, and Tris shudders.

 _Is he in my corner? Is he on my side?_

She rises the next morning red-eyed and tired, and none of Christina's make-up remedies do anything to reduce it – not that she's that adept at any of them anyway, but still. She stumbles through breakfast and a shower on autopilot, tripping over herself to get ready on time but in reality barely caring: if she stopped for a second Tris doubts she'd bother carrying on.

Tris stares at herself in the mirror: this exhausted, lithe-looking figure with the tattooed collarbone, so different from the slender ghostly shadow that occupied the reflection mere months ago.

For the first time in a while, she looks away.

At work, she avoids Eric, drags out her business with Ryn unnecessarily so that by the time lunch rolls around, she's had sufficient grounds to ignore his request for a meeting. Her nails are stubs from where she's been biting at them, and her hair's a mess: Tris holes up in the most discreet nook of the cafeteria she can find, picking at the hot salad she chose at random. Her eyes scan the room unconsciously, searching for Eric, maybe even Four, but all of the faces belong to strangers.

She wants advice. Impartial advice. An idea plants itself in her head, threatens to blossom, but she tries to shove it aside. _Not a good idea, Tris_. But the Dauntless side of her whines, and the Erudite side reasons, and in the end she yields, discarding whatever's left of the salad and striding out of Dauntless like that's exactly what she's meant to be doing. The vans can drive on autopilot now, anyway, and Tris knows enough about driving that she could stop a crash in a pinch.

The Amity farms are always beautiful in summer, and Tris takes in the fields of red and yellow blooms interspersed with grain and fruit. Faint strains of singing reach her over the vague sounds of the engine and unconsciously, Tris feels her muscles relax just slightly. Amity is steady, predictable, and it's nice to at least know what to expect. The curious stares are almost familiar, now, and with her shorn hair and dark clothing Tris almost feels _strong_ against this tide of yellow and red.

She trudges into the barn that constitutes Johanna's office and knocks perfunctorily, leaning in the archway, because she knows that's what's expected of her.

"Tris." The note of surprise on Johanna's face is pronounced, but quickly disappears. "Amity welcomes you. Do you have business?" her expression turns into one of fond exasperation. "What forms have we forgotten to fill in now?"

Tris doesn't know Johanna Reyes well. Eric had taken her on diplomatic trips to Amity, sometimes, to deal with fence security or improperly filled out reports. Sometimes, Tris had felt like Dauntless was half running Amity behind the scenes, with how many reminders Eric had had to dish out about food distribution and production. She wonders what Amity would have done, if the Dauntless and Abnegation mess had properly escalated - if Eric hadn't shot Jeanine that day. Because to her, it seems like kindness only leads to indecision, and there's no place for indecision in a war.

"Not official business." Tris finds herself saying carefully. Johanna regards her with her lone unscarred eye and gestures to the softly furnished seats beside her desk.

"Please, then, do sit – can I get you anything?" Tris automatically shakes her head no (it's not the time to get high off of bread) and reclines back in the chair. Amity always has this heady scent of earth, of outside, and she breathes it in.

"I need some advice." she starts eventually, slow and tentative. "Impartial advice. And, well, Dauntless isn't exactly the place to be getting that, really." Johanna inclines her head, smiles.

"And so you chose to seek it here?" The yellow-clad woman takes a long sip of tea, and inwardly, Tris wonders if that's drugged too.

"Taking the unconventional approach has worked for me before. And there's not much that can stop me from doing that now." Tris shrugs. "Leadership has its perks, right?"

She can only imagine how furious Eric must be. The vans are tracked, so he'll know exactly where she's gone, and the extent to which she's just blown him off. Still, best deal with that later – with some well-placed words. It's strange, but Tris has found that, when in combat, all that fight training really hasn't come in that much use – words and syllables are better bullets. Because for all her bravado in front of Johanna, she really isn't meant to be making use of this particular perk, and when she gets back, she'll need to handle Eric's consequent rage carefully.

"Indeed." Johanna's smile is wry, but tinged with something Tris can't quite make sense of. Pity? Frustration? "What is it, then, that you would like counsel on - so much so that you would choose an unbiased ear over your own faction?" There's no judgement in the other woman's tone, but Tris can certainly detect curiosity. Because Johanna is right – no sane person would choose to seek advice from anybody not in their faction, and by doing so, she's marking herself as different, verging on a non-conformist. And that's dangerous.

Then again, Tris is Dauntless, and danger follows her around like an annoyingly persistent stray dog.

"I…" Tris inhales deeply, gathering the words together in her head. "I have suspicions, and I'm not sure how to act on them. It's not something that I could do lightly – not like I'm suspecting the person of something trivial. If I misjudge it…" she shrugs. "Everything I've done up until now could end up being meaningless." Pressing her lips together, Tris leans forward, grey eyes staring Johanna down. "It sounds really self-preserving, doesn't it? But… I think I'll go insane not knowing. Just stay in this sort of limbo."

"I think you already know the answer to your question." Johanna smiles, the scar over her eye crinkling with the movement. "What you're seeking is validation." She glances out of the window behind her, and the door, brown eyes unreadable despite the placidity of her expression. "Dauntless is a dangerous place, Tris. There's a reason people have always been reluctant to transfer there here in Amity, no matter their Aptitude Test. But, you have to remember that you passed initiation there for a reason. You did more than pass – you came first, as Eric tells it to me."

"Eric told you that?" Tris tries to keep the surprise out of her voice and fails.

"When he introduced you to me over the phone." Johanna smiles, and it's laced with something different. "He portrayed you as extremely competent. In his own way, I'd even go so far to say he sounded proud of you, Tris. Happy to be able to tell me you were Dauntless's newest leader."

"I… see." Eric – proud of her? Two things she'd never put together on her own. Eric is _critical_ of her, corrects every minor lapse with stern rebukes, constantly pushes her to be better and faster and more efficient in her duties as leader. If she thinks about it, she can count the number of times he's praised her on one hand.

"I don't mean to pry unnecessarily, Tris, but I wonder if your enquiry, perhaps, involves Eric?" Johanna's eyes look disconcertingly knowing in that moment as she sets her teacup back on its saucer. Tris feels her expression harden automatically.

"You are prying unnecessarily." she sighs. "This was a mistake; I'm sorry, Johanna." Tris rises from her chair and heads out, but she looks backward over her shoulder.

"I need to figure this out on my own."

* * *

Tris knocks on Eric's door at seven sharp, Johanna's words still ringing in her head. The door's flung open and he practically shoves her in, ignoring her squawk of protest, and throws her into a chair.

"What the fuck were you doing in Amity this afternoon?" he snarls, pacing over the kitchen tiles a little like a a tiger might do its cage. "I asked to see you. I did not authorise a joyride out to Amity."

"It wasn't a joyride." Tris makes her voice stay even. "It was important." _Keep your cool, Tris. Eric values reason; time to make use of that._

"We have no business with Amity except the usual mundane trivialities." Tris isn't sure, but she thinks she just saw his shoulders shake – he's that angry. "You had no grounds to go out there instead of doing as I asked and meeting with me."

"I gave myself grounds." she replies simply. "If you'd take a second to listen, you'd understand." She sees Eric visibly take a breath, inhale, exhale – and she thinks it's an Erudite technique, but decides to keep quiet.

"All right. I'm listening."

"I spoke to Johanna." she says quietly. "About the… situation." Eric looks almost perplexed by that.

"Why? Isn't she as high as the rest of them?" his words are rough and crude, any niceties eliminated by the sheer foulness of his mood.

"No. No, she's not, and she helped, kind of. I understand what I have to do now." Tris squares her shoulders, takes a big, deep breath the way she did when she spoke at the Council for the first time. This, though, is different. "Eric, I don't think I'm the only Divergent one in this room." she bites her lip, leaves indents in the sensitive flesh. The silence that follows hangs in the air between them, tangible in the way it divides them.

"I see." Eric says neutrally. Tris hates how she can't read him, how his eyes give away nothing, how his mouth doesn't twist or upturn slightly to give her a clue.

"I… was scared to talk to you about it. I cared about… whatever our relationship is… too much to be upfront. And you don't have to answer, not if you don't want to. I wouldn't think less of you if you didn't." she says, pressing her lips together. "Divergents are meant to be strong, but sometimes, all it does is make me feel weak. Like I'm being pulled three different ways; like all the time, I'm in this civil war I won't ever be able to win."

Eric doesn't answer her.

He kisses her instead.

Tris is taken off guard, but soon feels her body relaxing into it, remembering the feeling. She hasn't kissed him in days and so she's desperate, nails digging into his shoulder as she pulls them flush against each other. She twines her legs around Eric's hips, their mouths attached together, vying for dominance. But this time Eric fights dirty: he imprisons her underneath him, and it sends all thoughts out of her head as he pins her arms to her sides and, breaking the kiss, fixes her with a wicked grin. Tris opens her mouth but Eric silences her as he draws their lips back together, biting and sucking at the sensitive flesh of her lower lip, and it makes her fight to press their bodies closer – but she goes nowhere.

"What did I say about patience?" Eric drawls, and she feels his smirk against her mouth.

"Screw patience." she says roughly, but he just snorts and draws back, looks at her for a moment – at her exposed skin, her bared legs – her annoyed expression – and the familiar amused curl of his mouth as he makes her wait only incenses her more. "Come _on_." It's nearly a whine. She's missed the way their bodies fit together, and tonight the power games are grating on her nerves like a blunt knife. His nails trail down the inside of her thigh achingly slowly, teasing, and Tris shakes her head in indignation.

"C'mon, Tris." Eric's voice suddenly slips: his tone is almost menacing, amusement going from light to dark. She watches his eyes, filled with slivers of silver, and inwardly something clicks into place.

 _Oh_.

"You really do want to take the lead, huh?" she murmurs into his neck, and the nod she gets in answer is interspersed with his teeth biting at the inside of her thigh. It feels like wires have been crossed in her brain – there should be pain, something inside should be protesting at being thrown about like a piece of meat – but instead there's only pleasure, only pleasure and something like relief that she can't put a finger on.

"Stop thinking." Eric says, low and dark. "Let go."

It takes her back to her fear landscape. Not being in control, being at the mercy of the simulation. But this is different, a small part of her brain whispers. This is real, this is with Eric, this is _good_. Tris lets herself float, becomes an object and not a person just momentarily, and almost unconsciously she feels her body relax; as if there's some barrier between her and her senses, like she's an observer within her own body.

"Tris." Eric murmurs as they lie there together an hour later, coming back down from wherever they were.

"Mmm?" she mumbles incoherently, eyes still faintly glassy.

"Tris, I need you to leave."

"Leave? What, go back to my apartment?" She can't quite understand why, but still. There's still something off between them, and Tris decides to indulge Eric's whims; she gets up, starts searching for her discarded clothing.

"No, I mean – leave Dauntless. Leave the city. With me. And others, if you think it necessary." the tenor of his voice suggests a clenched jaw, but the words are carefully measured.

"What?" she turns over, faces him properly, and doesn't bother to hide her confusion. "Why? I understand there's some danger, but it's not enough to justify fleeing quite yet, right? What's beyond the fence still might be worse." Eric inhales deeply, holds her hand more tightly, a juxtaposition when he's telling her to leave.

"You were there when I shot Jeanine, in the Erudite control room. I assume that you can remember and that you weren't actually under the influence of the serum." His words are stiff and tight, and she feels his muscles tense. She traces his collarbone with a free hand and tries to form coherent thoughts, to bully her brain into working how she needs it to. _Erudite, Tris, you're Erudite, not just Dauntless._

"Yes – I saw you shoot her. I saw you confront her and condemn her for what she'd done – for what she'd tried to do to you." she runs over the memory again, how Jeanine had stood fast until the end, how she'd refused to stop the program. "And once you'd shut the program down, you killed her. You wanted her to watch her plan fail before she died." It almost sounds like a script.

"You didn't see where I shot her, though." Eric takes another long breath. "You didn't see that."

"Eric… I don't understand. You shot Jeanine, she's dead – why does it matter where you shot her?"

But Tris thinks about it for a moment, and the beginnings of a sickening revelation start to bloom in her mind.

"No… no, she fell to the ground, I saw it. Everyone did. She's dead." Eric stays silent, doesn't meet her eye. "Eric. Eric, please, tell me what this is about." she shakes him, almost as if that might make words spill out.

"She's not dead." he says quietly.

Black spots creep into the edges of her vision. Eric's shaking her, trying to get her to focus, but it was all for _nothing_ , he _betrayed them_ and –

"I shot her. After everyone had gone, I patched her up. Erudite first aid." he looks away."She was my mother's best friend, Tris, I couldn't kill her. I worked for her when I was a dependent. I couldn't kill her." he inhales deeply. "You said your Divergence makes you weak; I've yet to see any evidence of that. But mine…" Tris can't stop the sharp intake of breath – she clutches onto him tighter. "Mine did. A true Dauntless would have shot her dead in an instead. But my own reason betrayed me."

"I don't think it was reason that betrayed you, Eric." she says quietly. "I think it was your humanity that did." she stares at him, cups his face with her two pale hands, demands every ounce of his attention. "But just because, in that one moment, you let yourself be human, it doesn't make you weak." she bites her lip, looks away.

"Eric, I think you're the strongest person I know."

* * *

They lie together for as long as they dare, and then Eric comes clean.

He knows where she is. She's hiding out with a small group of Erudite and Dauntless defectors, and he's seen them moving about when he's gone on patrols.

He knows she's got access to the serums, and he knows she intends to use them sooner rather than later. (Jeanine knows that Eric knows, and that's falling into the really-not-good category).

Between the two of them, they cook up a plan.

(It's not really a plan. It's more a collection of hopes and ifs and crossed fingers. But neither of them points that out.)

They go to the Friday night party that's being held in the Pit. It's full of people, and they only fall into two categories: very drunk and very very drunk. Eric presses a cool beer into her hand and they stand off to the side, leaning into each other, silent in their agreement now. They watch the people surrounding them get tipsier and tipsier, but the beer she's holding is only for show – she can't drink now. Instead, her eyes rove over the crowds, the people rammed into the Pit like cattle, a sea of black, searching for faces she knows. Instead, either because her eyes are playing tricks on her or because it's really true, all the people are strangers, people she's never met.

She knew nearly every person in Abnegation by name, even if she'd only spoken to them once.

Tris finds herself having to take a deep breath.

But she finds the people she wants in the end. Christina, bleary eyed and still unsteady on her feet; Four, tense and watchful; Uriah, Tori, Ryn and even Peter, all in various states of inebriation. Part of her is half convinced she's left people out, but she's got to keep moving.

"There isn't enough time for me to explain this." she says. "We need to move. Now."

Eric provides snippets of information as they slip through the compound. Tris misses half of it, casually taking a weapons holdall from the requisitions centre in the guise of some late night training. Between her and Ryn, nobody questions a thing, and Peter and Uriah return similarly successful from the kitchen.

With Four's knowledge of the security cameras in the city, they manage to evade detection, passing through both Dauntless and the Abnegation district without attracting even a single pair of eyes. Tris keeps a constant hand on the filched gun in her bag, stays permanently on edge, and only stops moving when the fence draws into view.

When they get over it, she starts to let herself believe that everything might be real, even though her eyes have just seen Tori die.

 _Present day_

Lights. She can see lights. After two days, there's _something_.

Tris wants to shout, to affirm that it's actually happening – to make it absolutely, definitely real – but in the end she can only muster up the energy to point a finger.

In that moment, she sees something human trickling back into Christina's eyes.

"Come on." Tris turns behind her, to face the large figure that's wanted to carry her all the way. Bluish eyes meet grey, and Tris makes herself discard all inhibitions in that moment: she pulls them together, arms reaching to wrap around his neck, because now she doesn't have to be Abnegation or Erudite or Dauntless anymore; she can be something new.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Four look away, and for a split second sees what might have been.

But then she looks back at Eric - she looks back at him and doesn't wish for anything different. Because even though they're Divergent, him split in two and her in three – even though they're betraying the city by starting anew – Tris finds herself regretting nothing.

And as the lights get closer, she lets Eric hold her tight, and whispers three words in his ear.

* * *

 **A/N: So there we go, the end of the '-scence' series! I personally wasn't a fan of Allegiant so left it open ended, and wanted to focus more on Tris and Eric than the circumstances surrounding them in this last part (because, at least in my mind, that was the central focus in this series). If you have any questions, comments, criticism etc, let me know in the reviews!**

 **Thanks again for all your feedback and support!**


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